A fat, cold drop splashed against Maryann’s cheek. She looked up just as the heavy clouds split open, and another fat bead landed square on her nose.
“Oh dear,” she murmured, brushing at the droplets.
Squire Richardson, who had been carving slices of ham, looked skyward with dismay. “Blast it all! Time to pack up, everyone!” he called out, his good-natured tone carrying above the rising wind. “Mrs. Richardson, to the carriages before the heavens open completely!”
Maryann stood quickly, gathering the corner of one of the blankets and glancing toward the children. “Sarah!” she called, spotting her near the hillock with the twins and Mr. Walker.
The air grew sharp with the scent of rain as the first steady drops began to fall. Mr. Walker was laughing, trying to gather the girls as they squealed and darted around him. The kite, bright blue and fluttering wildly, tugged violently at its string as the wind picked up.
“Come now, girls!” he called, half-shouting over the rising gusts. “We must get back before we’re drenched!”
With a resigned laugh, he released the kite, letting it go. The string uncoiled rapidly, and the paper bird danced higher into the turbulent sky before spiraling down toward the riverbank.
“No!” Sarah cried, her small face twisted with alarm. “My kite!”
“Sarah, leave it!” Maryann shouted, but the child was already running—her curls bouncing, her skirts whipping about her knees.
Maryann’s pulse lurched. “Sarah!”
Mr. Walker turned, startled, calling after the child, but the wind snatched his words away. The ground was slick from the earlier rain, the grass heavy and wet beneath Maryann’s boots as she sprinted after her sister.
The kite had tangled itself near the river’s edge, its ribbon tails caught among the reeds. The river, still swollen from the morning storm, churned and foamed, its banks dark with mud.
“Sarah, stop!”
Sarah had reached the edge and crouched to grab the string. She looked up just as Maryann reached her, confusion flickering in her blue eyes.
“Sarah, let it go—”
Her words ended in a gasp as the ground gave way beneath the little girl’s feet. Sarah slipped, her boots skidding against the mud.
Maryann lunged forward, catching her around the waist. With all her strength, she pushed—shoving Sarah back onto solid ground.
“Maryann!” Sarah screamed, reaching for her.
But the force of the movement unbalanced Maryann completely. Her foot slid, the soft bank collapsing beneath her weight. For one breathless instant, she saw the gray sky above her, the kite still fluttering madly in the air.
Then the world tilted, and cold water swallowed her whole.
It wasby chance that he came upon the picnic. Sebastian had been riding like a man possessed for days, trying in vain to outrun the thoughts that haunted him. Every morning, he saddled his horse before dawn, every evening he rode until the world blurred and his lungs burned. But no amount of reckless galloping could purge Maryann from his mind. She lingered there, in every breath of wind, every glimmer of sunlight, every damn heartbeat.
And now, fate had thrown her in his path again.
He’d reined in at the edge of the meadow, half-hidden beneath the cover of the trees. Below, the squire’s party lounged upon damp blankets spread across the grass, laughter echoing faintly across the clearing. His gaze found her immediately sitting in the soft light, her bonnet framing her face, with delicate wisps of hair escaping to gleam like burnished chestnuts in the sun. Mr. Walker had stood near her, looking down at her with open admiration. The sound of her laughter carried faintly to where Sebastian sat astride his horse.
The sensation that tore through him was vicious, then was savage.She looks happy.The thought cut deeper than he cared to admit. He should have ridden away. He knew it. Yet he stayed, unmoving, watching her with the intensity of a man who had no right to look and yet could not turn away. He lingered there, in the shadows, for more than half an hour. He watched her smile, watched her rise and help the little girls arrange a kite, watched her lips move in gentle laughter. He wanted to be the man beside her again—the one who made her laugh, the one who drew that warmth into her eyes.
He had just tightened his grip on the reins, preparing at last to leave, when chaos erupted.
A child’s cry split the air, sharp and panicked. His gaze shot toward the riverbank just as the blue kite lurched higher into the sky and Sarah ran after it. Maryann’s voice followed, her tone frantic.
Then, in one heart-stopping instant, he saw her slip. For a second, his body went rigid with disbelief. Then terror gripped him by the throat. “Maryann!”
He spurred his horse forward, the world narrowing to the flash of her dress vanishing beneath the churning current. He saw Mr. Walker standing frozen, shouting something Sebastian didn’t hear. The only thing he could focus on was the river, the violent swirl of brown water, and the pale figure struggling to stay afloat.
She could swim, but not against that current. He urged his horse harder, keeping pace with the rushing water, his heart thundering in his chest. The cold spray hit his face, and still he rode.
“Hold on!” he shouted, his voice ragged, carried away by the wind and rain.
